


Judgement

by dragonsong (NekoAisu)



Series: FFXIV Write 2019 [19]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Dark Knight Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Gen, Gender-Neutral Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Minor Character Death, Patch 3.0: Heavensward Spoilers, Platonic Relationships, some dark themes in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-10-03
Packaged: 2020-11-22 11:24:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20873408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoAisu/pseuds/dragonsong
Summary: “You would… kill for sport?”“No,” they answer, “but I do for satisfaction. There is a difference.”





	Judgement

**Author's Note:**

> For FFXIVWrite 2019!
> 
> Day 20 | Bisect
> 
> Tumblr post here: https://ffxivimagines.tumblr.com/post/187862422279/ffxivwrite-2019-prompt-20-judgement

There is no such thing as a clear divide.

No matter how much Alphinaud lauds himself on his upright and unflinching morals, this is still an inalienable truth. He has studied and as such he knows, but knowing is not equivalent to practicing.

He does his best to be magnanimous and accepting of faults—that he has many is another fact of life—to the point of overlooking misbehaviors. He believes in the inherent goodness of man to the point of purposeful ignorance. A child’s folly, but one he was slated to make from the beginning of his attempts at world peace.

When he fails, it costs him dearly. Nobody need remind him or ask that he apologize when they see the dark circles beneath his eyes. He is surprised, however, by how unflinchingly the Warrior of Light throws themself into the protection of Ishgard.

He wonders if they are truly as fine as they claim right up to the point where they come back to Fortemps manor with blood soaked into their hair and a mess of mangled chain mail clenched tightly in their fist. He does not recognize the armor they wear, but dismisses it as yet another taxing mission beyond the confines of the Fury’s city. He allows them his doubt as they have done for him. Even when they go out and come back stinking of blood and rot. Time and time again. Until he can no longer ignore that which plagues them.

“Sit with me.”

They look up from where they’ve been working at a particularly stubborn spot of rust on their disused chocobo bridle and shrug. “Already sittin’, Alphie.”

He cautiously perched on the end of their bed, halfway onto the wooden chest they use to store potables, and attempts to get his thoughts into some semblance of order. A long and scrub-filled moment later finds him in possession of his wits enough to ask, “How are you?”

“Fine,” they say with a sigh. “No different from before.”

“Why do you lie to me,” Alphinaud presses, “when it is obvious you are not as well as you claim?” He fidgets, worries he may upset them further.

They sit down their scouring sponge, turn around in their chair, and reply, “Why do you believe me to be within your moral jurisdiction?”

“What?”

“Why is it that you think I am not okay? What am I to tell you, Alphinaud, if not thins you’ve no wish to hear.”

He frowns and disagrees with a short, “I am your friend am I not?”

They give him a humorless smile andsay slowly, “So you’d want to hear of my nightly outings? Where I go to come back here and scare the entire House half to death? Is this truly what you want?”

“Yes,” he states. There is nothing they have done he could not stomach.

“I hunt knights,” they say casually, “and leave their corpses for the wolves.” Alphinaud reels. Before he can play at getting his feet back under him, they continue. “The ones who kill unjustly, the rapists, the slavers, the inquisitors who play at salvation, the ones who think me somehow lesser for existing in a way that is different from them. I allow them the final mercy of death. Rarely a clean one, but it’s quick nonetheless. Last night I managed to scare a couple heirs to households under Durendaire.”

“You would… kill for sport?”

“No,” they answer, “but I do for satisfaction. There is a difference.”

Alphinaud is nauseated, but swallows down the burning at his throat to continue. “And what is that? You claim to dispatch those who have committed real crimes same as those you have taken personal issue to. That is not justice.”

“What is justice, then, if not repayment for personal hurts? What would justice be for Minfilia? What would it be for each and every friend you got killed?”

Alphinaud goes pale. He does not speak. The Warrior waits.

“No answer? What would you do if I was murdered same as them? Who would do your dirty work—“

“I did kill them,” he admits, “but they would forgive. That I know to be true.”

“And of me?”

Alphinaud stands, walks over to them, and whacks them on the head. “If you die I will drag you out of the lifestream myself, so help me gods.”

They laugh, the sound petering out into a tired imitation. “It will happen, eventually,” they remind. “Be ready.”

And he is, given months to adjust to the thought of them butchering those at night that they attempt to play nice with by day. He will be ready and when they fall, he will hold their legacy, sword and all.

**Author's Note:**

> xiv tunglr | https://ffxivimagines.tumblr.com/  
main | https://kiriami-sama.tumblr.com/  
main | https://twitter.com/flamingacekiri


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